


Little Physical Treatises

by cosmotronic



Series: One Hundred Words, or Maybe More [4]
Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Drabble, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmotronic/pseuds/cosmotronic
Summary: Series of one-shot, one hundred word drabbles.





	1. On Things Heard

**Author's Note:**

> Continued thanks for all your comments and kudos. Each one makes me smile stupidly at my screen.

They hardly pay heed to the sounds from Holtzmann's lab any more: the music, the crashing and hammering, the little poofs, the medium poofs, the whoops of excitement after a particularly big poof.

It's a constant background hum, white noise only apparent when it stops.

"Huh."

"What?"

"Holtzy's gone quiet."

They investigate, after a time, stopping outside the lab door. It's not completely silent, they realise. They can hear voices, muffled and wordless. Holtzmann's voice, Erin's voice. Low murmurings and sharp gasps. A long, throaty moan that makes them jump and scatter back down the stairs.

Holtzmann's okay, they decide.


	2. On Sleep

Holtzmann doesn't sleep for long, or very often, but when she does it's scary.

Holtzmann never stops, never slows down, until suddenly she does and she just crumples into whatever soft thing is closest – bed, couch, Erin's lap – and sleeps like the dead. It's weird how still she is, how small she looks without her energy.

It can't be simple exhaustion because it's never for more than two, three hours. More probable, it is something Holtzmann has trained herself to do, has trained her mind and body into accepting that she must stop and be still, for a little while.


	3. On Interpretation

What Holtzmann says and what she means aren't entirely different things, but there's a degree of cryptology required. Erin will come to know this.

"I've heard terrible things about you."

_Erin, you're not what I imagined._

"All the madness has got you goin' crazy."

_Erin, you make me feel strange things._

"I have some questions."

_Erin, you have my undivided attention._

"No woman should walk around unarmed."

_Erin, I won't let you get hurt._

"Welcome back!"

_Erin, please don't leave me._

"The purpose of life is to love."

_Erin, I love you._

Erin figures it out in the end, deciphers.


	4. On Sense Perception

Holtzmann's swinging on her stool, a little back and forth, and doing that intense, odd eye-contact thing again. _Odd_ , because Erin realises when Holtzmann looks at her she actually looks everywhere but at her eyes. Holtzmann looks at her nose, her eyebrows, a spot beside or inside her head.

It's a neat trick, one Erin can understand.

So when their eyes actually do meet, Erin dragging her gaze deliberately across Holtzmann's, holding it there, she knows it's bold and brazen and a challenge.

Holtzmann must know exactly what Erin is doing, and nearly disintegrates right there on her stool.

"Hnnngghh."


	5. On Prior Analytics

Holtzmann is most definately a woman. In and out bits, curves in all the right places, presence alternating soft and pliant and firm and unyielding. Full lips that smile and hips that won't quit.

Erin is attracted to Holtzmann. Brilliant and brilliantly weird, all rapid-fire excitement and childlike wonder and frustrating obtusity. The deepest depths of a soul Erin has ever stared into.

Therefore, Erin is attracted to women. Wants to gaze at and kiss and make love to and whisper sweet nothings in receptive ears.

By all the laws of reason, it is so. Why does that terrify her?


	6. On Posterior Analytics

It's not working.

She dances a little more suggestively, winks a little more obviously, stares in a way that cannot be misinterpreted.

She says _hot stuff_ , touches brave fingers to arms and hips, burning touches to scorch her mark, to ignite.

She stammers out her crooked heart and scatters her piecemeal soul in a breathless jumble, wills it to be picked up and dusted off and set right.

She tries to be seen, and heard, and loved, so she offers everything. Every little part of her, behind the yellow and the crunch, stripped naked for _her_.

It's not working. Conclusion?


	7. On Breath

Her world is tiny; she’s having trouble breathing. Shivering, though her palms are clammy.

A little panic attack, that must be it. Breathe, in and out, it’ll pass.

Her legs are numb. That’s new, but it’s not painful, not like the throbbing in her skull. Not enough oxygen.

She wants Holtzmann, hysterically, absurdly. Holtz will pull faces and talk funny and poke her; do all the wrong things, but somehow give her air. She needs Holtz. Air.

There's shouting, unreal and too far away, panicked. Why are they panicking too? It’s not like a building fell on her or anything.


	8. On Sophistical Refutations

Erin pushes against him, noticing his hard body as they dance, and there's nothing there. There should be _something_ there. There was an attraction once, right? Erin struggles to remember, now, what exactly made her go sweaty and stupid. She remembers forcing it, whatever it was.

While trying to ignore a deeper rumbling of _something_ else.

Erin's eyes drift to Holtzmann, all spark and energy and brilliance and curves. Erin feels her intelligence draining from her, whatever little cool she had sweating away. Unable to force anything, because her mouth is dry and her body liquid. Oh, that's _something_ , alright.


	9. On Divination in Sleep

Holtzmann slumbers like someone has flipped a switch, just one to zero. But Erin flits between sleep and waking, occupies both states like an uncertainty principle, tosses, turns, sighs.

And talks.

She cracks open an eye one time, too dark about to be truly morning. Sees blue eyes muted grey in the pre-dawn, close and curious.

"You were talking."

Softer than Holtz has a right to be.

"You said you love me."

Wavering, tiny.

Silence sews her mouth, numbs her tongue until Holtz blinks, sinks back onto the pillows. Erin doesn't remember her dream, but knows she was braver there.


	10. On the Good

They took Erin inside on a stretcher, in a neck brace and that's not good.

Erin's in there, and all she needs to do is go and see her. She can't. She stands in the doorway, tugs her ear, mumbles _shit_.

What she can do is sit down, so she does. She can't sit for long, so she lies down. Curls up in front of the hospital like a dog on a doorstep and bawls into the concrete.

People step over her, walk through her, ignore her, because she is bad and this is wrong. She's not right. Not good.


	11. On Sickness and Health, and On Life and Death

Her collar's too tight. Her shoes, what was she thinking –

Stop fidgeting.

Where are her glasses?

No. Today she will see beauty in its true hue, because things are about to get real, any minute –

Wow.

It's not a big dress, though that would be interesting to take off later. It's simple, elegant. White, because Erin's traditional like that. All blurry, because –

Huh. Crying now. Swaying. Breakfast was half a Pringle.

Um. Erin's here, smiling, swiping tears with a thumb. Say something.

_Hi._

_Hi._

Yes, words.

_You look hot– gorgeous, Erin._

_Thank you. So do you. Come here often?_

–

–

Thunk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squeeeeee.


End file.
